There's this video of nuns talking about their favourite things to do outside of nun activities and one of them says "ultimate frisbee" and the other one goes "and sister you are so good at that." I literally cannot get "and sister you are so good at that" out of my head. Out of all my stims this one is my fav lolol
the certainty in her voice. that unwavering confidence. the way she takes up space in a way that makes it feel like she was born into it..the way she can undo someone with a smile just to put them back together with that steady touch.
i like it to.
god..i do. i swear.
but that’s not the part that keeps me awake at night..it’s the softness.
the moment when the walls come down..when her voice is quieter, when she admits she’s tired. when she reaches for your hand instinctively..almost without meaning to. the way she lets herself want comfort instead of being the one providing it.
not because the softness was never there..
but because she protected it, carried it carefully.
because she wasn’t sure what would happen if she handed it to someone else.
and then one day..she puts her head on your lap. closes her eyes and stops performing..that dominance, just for a moment. and all i can think is..
service top butches are some of the most devoted lovers and they don’t get talked about enough. the ones who find genuine pleasure in acts of service, who get turned on by being useful, by being needed, by being good. some of them love giving oral more than anything, who could spend hours between your legs and be perfectly content, who get wet from the taste and the sounds you make, who genuinely enjoy it more than being touched themselves. butches who take pride in learning exactly how you like to be fingered, who memorize every spot that makes you gasp, who get off on the skill of it, on being good with their hands.
the butches who love making you breakfast in bed after, who get satisfaction from taking care of you in every way. who do the dishes without being asked, who carry your bags, who open doors, who find joy in these small acts of service. the ones who get turned on by being told what to do in bed, who need that guidance, who want you to use them for your pleasure. who ask what position you want, how fast, how deep, constantly seeking instruction because following your direction gets them off. service tops who live for praise, who need to hear they’re doing well, who work harder when you tell them they’re perfect. whose whole face lights up when you say good boy/girl, who get wetter from those words than from physical touch.
the butches who beg for permission to touch you, who treat access to your body like a gift they have to earn. who get genuinely distressed if they can’t make you cum, who take it as a personal mission. who study your body like it’s their job, who remember every preference, every sensitivity. the ones who find purpose in your pleasure, who feel most themselves when they’re making you feel good. who are confident and skilled but also vulnerable and needy, who need praise and validation and reassurance that they’re enough.
these butches deserve recognition for the devotion they bring, for the care they put into service, for being strong enough to give everything while being brave enough to admit they need something back.
you’re always in charge darling, aren’t you? you’re good at it..but what if every now and then you let go of that control? not fully, just loosened the reigns. let me make you feel good.
i could interlace our fingers and pin them up above your head, relishing in the tiny gasp you let out. hips automatically bucking underneath me. my hair slipping down, shielding us both as i press a kiss to your forehead, cheek, nose..finally your lips. but i pull back at the last second and you follow, eyes closed lips parted. so good for me baby. you blink open, cheeks flushed and i finally let go of your hands, although you don’t move them yet. my thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip.
they part perfectly, so pliant under my touch aren’t you? and my thumb slips past, pressing down gently against your tongue. the way your eyes flutter closed, makes me shiver. feeling the tentative movement at first, a slow swirl around. then your cheeks hollow out, sucking with a bit more force. and now i know why it drives you crazy when i do it.
eventually i pull it out, “so good for me baby” i praise gently. you stutter out some weak half answer and i smile. unlike you, i don’t need to tell you to use your words. i’m perfectly fine noticing the way your body reacts. every sharp breath and tiny moan, every time your hips roll. the soft pleas that fall from your lips.
my pussy rubbing over the clothed fabric bulge where your strap sits underneath. head lolling to the side, my eyes fluttering closed when it grazes my clit. you whimper, a sound that..any other time you’d probably never admit to making.
“fuck baby,” you breathe and i blink lazily down at you, a soft smirk on my lips.
my hips still rolling, back and forth. slow..and you seem entranced. your hands moving tentatively to my hips, gently. almost..hesitant despite the way you usually grip them.
“you can touch,” i say, and i feel your body relax..hands moving practiced up and down my sides. you know every inch of my body already, and still..here you are.
i lean down, pressing soft open mouthed kisses down your chest, your stomach. stopping at your pants and pulling them down, your strap out. and my mouth waters. wasting no time i pull my panties to the side, to desperate to even take them off and rub my soaking pussy over the tip and the sight makes you moan.
i want to wait until you beg, the way your voice cracks and your fingers dig those tiny crescent shapes into my hips..my thighs. until finally i slip it inside. all the way until i’m sitting directly on top of you, legs spread on either side. i want to watch you gasp, hips shifting until i pin them down with my hands. a quiet ‘tsk’, “did i say you could move baby?” i tease, rocking my hips..those tiny whimpers spilling over.
“please” i hear you whisper, watching your throat work. desperate. and who am i to deny you of that? i nod,
“you’ve been so good for me, i think you’ve earned it darling.” i say, tracing the curve of your jaw once more,
before i let you take what you’ve been wanting this entire time.
Mira is six when she realizes she doesn’t like the name her family always calls her.
Learning a new language is hard. Mira doesn't understand conjunctions in Korean let alone French. She knows she runs, she ran yesterday, and she will run tomorrow. But she has no idea what a past perfect participle is. And why are cheese and trees boys and candles and drums girls? That doesn't make any sense. Cheese is food, candles melt, you hit drums but her dad is always telling her older brother that you don't hit girls (Not like he listens, he hits Mira all the time.), and trees can be boys or girls just like people! She learned that in science. Her teacher is very cool and would not lie to her, unlike some people.
She sighs and looks at the letters on the page her tutor gave her. She even had to learn a new alphabet because the French couldn't just write their words with Hangul like normal people.
Je suis grande. J'ai les yeux marrons. J'ai les cheveux noirs. Je suis sportive(f). J'aime danser. J'ai un frère. Je vis chez mes parents. Je n'aime pas jouer au football.
The hardest part, though, is that she keeps messing up the word endings. According to the tutor anyway. She thinks she's doing just fine. Everything looked right and Minho even looked at it for her. He was the one that insisted she add a sentence about him. Maybe he let her be wrong on purpose? He does like to play tricks on her.
What does that crabby old lady know anyway? She insists on calling Mira by her first name instead of Kang like everyone else. A bit overly familiar, if you ask her. Of course, as always, no one does.
She hates it though. It chafes. Only her family calls her by her first name, and even then she doesn’t like it. It doesn’t fit her.
She spends the long ride home thinking of every name that she can and whispering them out loud to test them. It has to start with ‘M,’ she decides. That’s the family tradition. When she runs out of names she knows, she starts making things up that sound nice. She hasn’t come up with anything that feels right by the time she makes it home. She briefly contemplates searching through the library, but the last time she went in without permission she had her hands smacked because she put the books back wrong.
She decides instead to find her mother, who is (miraculously) home for once according to Mira’s third favorite housekeeper. Mira often feels like her mother doesn’t have time for her, but she’s not cruel and of her parents she is the one that is most likely to listen to her.
“Eomma?”
“Hmm?” Even now, her mother doesn’t look away from the mirror where she’s putting in her earrings. She’s dressed nicely, probably about to go out to some important social function.
Mira fidgets with one of the buttons on her uniform vest. “I don’t like my name. Can you call me something different?”
This does catch her mother’s attention. She turns on her vanity seat to look at Mira still standing by the door. “What is this? Why don’t you like it?” She waves Mira closer.
Mira shrugs. “It doesn’t fit.”
Her mother frowns. “I spent a long time choosing your name. It is very auspicious.” Mira looks away and tries very hard not to pout. She’ll just be reprimanded if she does. Her mother must notice some sort of displeasure in her expression though because she hums thoughtfully as she fusses with Mira’s hair. “Perhaps you need time to grow into it,” she offers. “I didn’t care for my name when I was a child either.”
“Really?”
Her mother nods. “I came to appreciate it with time.” She flicks Mira’s nose. “I think I shall call you Babo since you are being so silly.”
Mira scowls and steps out of her mother’s reach, rubbing at her offended nose. “Eomma!”
Her mother laughs. “You have brought it on yourself, Babo.” She turns back to her vanity. “Now go to the kitchen and have a snack. You have taekwondo in an hour.”
Mira groans theatrically but does as bid, even as her mother calls after her to stop whining.
She does the same exercise again on the way to and from taekwondo, and while she’s in class she spends more time listening out for names than she does practicing her forms.
She plays around with Mimi for a while. It's cute and it's fun to say. She decides to keep it in mind and work on something else that's a little cooler.
The epiphany comes at school three days later. She finishes her math work early and her teacher lets her look through the classroom library for something to read while she waits for other students to finish. Her teacher keeps lots of different kinds of books. Mira mostly likes to read the ones about adventures but that day she decides to branch out and look in the other sections. On impulse she takes out the children's dictionary and starts flipping through the ‘M’s. Maybe there’s a word in there that will fit her.
미래- noun
When you talk about tomorrow or next week or next year, you are talking about the future. The future is the time that is ahead of us.
Jiho hopes that he will become a doctor in the future.
Mira can’t explain it but she feels like as soon as she reads the word that a shock runs through her fingers and then through the rest of her body. A warm hum that almost feels like her body is singing lingers.
This is it. This is her name. Mira.
~
Well, I′m perfection when it comes to indiscretion
Might fuck around and just succumb to my aggression
I taste blood and it's turned to an obsession
Mira is nine and she knows two things. She does not want to be in taekwondo and being a girl is bad.
She only goes to taekwondo without a fight because her parents promised her that as long as she stayed enrolled and competed; she could take dance classes. If she purposefully under-performed, they would pull dance.
It wasn't that taekwondo was horrible. She was pretty good at it too, even with minimal practice. It was just that it was so...masculine. She was in a boy’s class too, which sucked, but it’s not like she can just ask to be put in the girl’s class. As much as it sucks, she isn’t stupid and she knows she can’t just start insisting that she’s a girl. Her parents would flip out.
At least her brother is two classes above her so she didn't have to see his smug ass face all the time.
She has natural athleticism and a level of aggression that her parents insist will get her in trouble if she doesn’t control it, but she also does not give a fuck about taekwondo, so she’s usually in the middle of the class. This is entirely unimportant to her, but the other kids are very concerned about everyone’s abilities.
So, when Hye Kim hits her with a perfect crescent kick in their first round of sparring, he’s entirely too smug about it.
Mira falls to one knee and grabs at her ribs with a grunt. Her eyes are watering immediately from the sharp pain.
Hye steps up and looks down his nose at her, the corner of his mouth turned up in an arrogant grin. Mira glares up at him. He clocks the tears in her eyes and laughs.
“Aww, are you gonna cry like a little girl?” He mocks her, hands on his hips.
Mira bares her teeth and is ready to leap up, fully prepared to drop all of her forms and training for a full-on brawl. Mira feels a buzz of energy around her and a tugging in her stomach, like a string trying to pull her back.
Hye takes a step back, noting the change in her expression, but before anything can happen their sabomnim, Jeong-hun, appears beside them, his typically calm expression set into stern disapproval.
“Kim, you will assume a plank position until Kang stands. We do not disrespect our opponents in this dojang.”
Hye, stiff with compliance, drops into position without complaint but he does glare at Mira. Jeong-hun corrects Hye’s posture and stands over him for a good ten seconds, just watching, before he approaches Mira.
“You good, Kang?” Jeong-hun asks, purposefully turning his back on Hye to exclude him. Some of the other sparring partners spare them a few side glances but quickly mind their own business.
Mira nods and spits her mouth guard into her hand. “It was a clean hit.” She wipes her face on the sleeve of her dobok.
“Yes. Perhaps in the future you will pay more attention to blocking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you need a break?”
“No, sir.”
“On your feet then. Hopefully, Kim has learned his lesson by now.”
Mira looks around Jeong-hun’s legs and sees that Hye’s elbows are shaking a little and he’s glaring at the floor. She doesn’t smile because she doesn’t want to join him, but it is very satisfying.
She stands up and bows to Jeong-hun.
“Alright, Kim, on your feet, back in position.”
Mira doesn’t leave with the win, but she holds her own and Hye doesn’t get her down again.
~
I got a problem doin' things I′m not supposed to
Mira is twelve, being a girl is bad, and she is one, so she’s bad. No one else knows she’s a girl, she’s not stupid enough to say anything, but she knows. It’s fine. Her parents are already disappointed in her for doing better at the dance festival than in her taekwondo tournament. She lost on purpose in the semi-finals, but she made the other kid work for it at least.
She’s in an empty practice room, icing her lip from a lucky hit that landed in taekwondo earlier and flicking through the CD book to look for a song to practice to. Her parents only let her take ballet, because at least it’s dignified, but she really wants to try hip hop. The studio has a beginner’s class, and she’s stayed behind a few times to watch.
Ballet isn’t so bad. She gets to dance, to hang out with people that aren’t chronic assholes, and even though she has to dance the male parts, it’s still better than taekwondo. Plus, Mira’s pretty sure that even though she’s definitely a girl, she also likes girls. She likes that she gets to lift and hold them, her strength ensuring that they’re always firmly and safely in her arms. She has long fingers naturally and they’re strong and dexterous from years of playing piano. Sometimes when she takes another dancer by the waist to hold her steady, her fingers almost meet in the middle.
She likes when they lean on her between sets, chins on her shoulder and arms around her waist. When they giggle at her jokes and slap her shoulders playfully she feels like some kind of celebrity. Even more so when she catches them quietly arguing over who gets to partner with her. She’s caught them playing gawi bawi bo over it before.
She also loves when they compliment her hair. It gives her a flutter of excitement in her stomach. She’s finally been able to get it to chin length without her father insisting she cut it. Hyuk in VIXX has long hair, and it's blond! The fact that she has to use a male KPOP star as an example grinds at her, but she’ll do what she has to.
And that includes “borrowing” some pointe shoes. She fully intends to return them to Eun’s locker when she’s done with them. The other girls in her class are finally starting to go on pointe, now that they’re all strong enough. And Mira is strong. She’s been paying attention. She’s watched videos, practiced exercises at home. She can do it.
She finds some Nutcracker music and decides on that. They watched some of the older kids practicing for the winter recital a few days ago and she remembers most of the steps, though she’s not confident she can pull off the more complex moves on pointe. Grande Battement? Not likely.
She steps up to the barre and takes a deep breath. She can't jump and her weight needs to be on her big toe, not rolling to the outside. She rises slowly, pushing herself up from first position with the barre there for balance. She can feel the stretch and burn and then the pressure of all of her weight balancing on the boxes. She breathes out and looks at herself in the mirror. Her face is tight with concentration and discomfort. She lowers herself back down slowly. No rush.
Ok, so...that was hard. But that's ok, she knew it was going to be difficult, especially alone and in shoes that weren't made for her. She just needs to push herself and remain consistent. There's no way she can do any of the more advanced steps right away though. It's going to take a lot more practice.
She resettles at the barre and tries again. She manages to hold it for about five seconds before she has to lower back down. This time she turns to the side and keeps only her left hand on the barre, her right arm held out for balance as she rises up again. She tries a plie, head forward. Her calves and thighs are burning when she lowers back down. Two more times. She feels sweat beading at her brow. The air around her feels charged, warm and buzzing as it swirls around her. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a swirling blue light, but when she turns her head to look, there’s nothing there.
She looks at herself in the mirror again and realizes that she's grinning like an idiot. She allows herself a moment to preen, because yeah, this is pretty cool.
What would be easier, she wonders, turning or a coupe? Probably a coupe. She resets into first position and rises up again through demi and then fully on pointe. She feels strongest on her right leg so she shifts her weight and cuts her left foot up and in until the box of her borrowed shoe is touching her right ankle and her foot is almost cupping her calf.
The door to the practice room opens.
“Kang?” The questioning voice of Mira’s dance instructor startles her into turning too quickly. Mademoiselle Park is standing in the doorway with a puzzled expression. “What are you doing?”
Mira over corrects and falls, slamming one knee hard on the wood floor. She scrambles back to her feet, wincing at the bruise she can already feel forming, and crosses her arms defiantly. “I just wanted to see if I could do it. See what it was like.”
Mademoiselle Park watches her carefully as she approaches, posture and expression relaxed. “Was that the first time you did it?”
Mira, unsure if she’s going to be chastised, goes for honesty. “Yes.”
Mademoiselle Park nods thoughtfully. She crosses her arms in a mirror of Mira, but eyes her up and down with consideration. Her eyes catch on the borrowed pointe shoes long enough to have Mira shifting nervously. “Let’s see it again.”
“What?” She was expecting to at the very least be told not to waste her time, or maybe get yelled at or mocked for doing something for girls.
“Do you not want to?” Park is still watching her in that assessing way and Mira doesn’t know what to make of it.
She shrugs.
“What I saw looked good. You should give it another go.”
Mira thinks then that if Mademoiselle Park wasn’t so old she would want to marry her, just for that one encouragement. (She was 30 at the absolute most, Mira will recall later in life.)
So Mira does it again and again and again. It gets easier each time, especially now that her instructor is there to help, to give more pointed directions like how to arch her foot and where she should feel the stretch with each movement. That warm buzzing sticks with her all evening, curling under her feet and giving her a sense of buoyancy.
Mademoiselle Park only mildly chastises her for taking a pair of pointe shoes without asking and Mira nods and demures and returns them to Eun’s locker without comment.
Two days later a pair of pointe shoes are sitting in her own locker.
~
You know, I get too caught up in the moment
I can't call it love if I show it
I just fuck things up, if you noticed
Have you noticed?
Tell me, have you noticed?
Mira is fourteen and her father is an asshole.
She walks into her father’s study without invitation and stands in front of his desk. He doesn’t acknowledge her and after a moment she speaks up. “I want to quit taekwondo.”
Her father doesn’t look up from the paperwork in front of him. “I don’t remember asking for your input.”
“Father, please, I don’t like it. I want to focus more on dance.”
“You are not quitting. That’s final.” He doesn’t even look at her when he gives the dismissive answer. “You’re lucky I’m indulging you in this dance nonsense in the first place. Your math scores had better improve if you want to keep going.” He signs something, folds it into thirds, and carefully inserts it into an envelope.
“You let Minho quit his violin lessons. This isn’t fair.”
“You’re more than welcome to quit your piano lessons, but I was under the impression that you liked them.” The envelope is set aside and he pulls another stack of paper in front of him. There’s a muscle ticking at the corner of his jaw.
“Minho gets to do whatever he wants.”
Mira’s father slams his hand onto his desk with force. The sharp sound echoes around the room. “Minho doesn’t whine like a little girl when things don’t go his way.”
Mira flinches and shuts her mouth with a click. She glares at the floor. The abstract floral pattern on the carpet under her father’s desk blurs when tears prick at the corners of her eyes. For a second she thinks she sees the pattern change to blue lines. She forces herself to take a calming breath. Crying would just prove her father’s point.
“Furthermore, he’s older and needs to dedicate more time to his studies. Violin is less important.”
The front door opens and closes quietly. Minho walks past the doorway of the study, pausing to bow to their father. He looks between Mira and their father with a curious look.
“Just the man I wanted to see,” their father says. “Minho, ask me if you can quit taekwondo.”
“Father?”
“Do as you’re told, boy.”
“Father, may I please quit taekwondo?”
Mira’s father finally looks her directly in the eye when he answers. “No.”
Minho still looks incredibly confused. “Yes, sir. May I be excused?”
Their father waves him away. Minho bows, shoots Mira a questioning look and then leaves.
“There now, fairness. Just like you wanted.”
~
I am disgusting
I′ve been corrupted
And by now I don't need no help to be destructive
Mira is sixteen and as much as she enjoys breaking her parents’ rules and rebelling, the consequences do truly blow.
It starts small, as most things do. She gets very good at signing her parents’ names. She “borrows” a credit card, learns the safe combination, and keeps a fat stack of cash behind a drawer in her dresser. She opens a Swiss bank account with a forged signature from her father.
She learns how to hide her tracks on the internet very quickly when her older brother gets caught watching porn and gets his hide absolutely tanned. She has no intention to have the same thing happen to her.
She buys women’s clothes. Small things first, socks, underwear, a shirt that could just be read as a little tight. Then other things that she can hide in the back of her closet and wear in private. When her mother sends her with a staff member to get new glasses, she chooses a woman’s frame that’s simple enough not to be questioned.
She dyes her hair hot pink in the guest bathroom and then debuts it at a dinner with family friends of her mothers so that her parents can’t say anything against it without losing face, especially when her mother’s friend comments on how cool and modern Mira looks. Mira’s parents look like they sucked on lemons. Minho looks almost impressed.
Then the crimes start. It turns out, money really can buy happiness. Forging signatures on school forms and dance class sign-up sheets is no big deal. Nothing that could get her sent to jail. Buying controlled substances on the dark web? That's illegal. What’s interesting is that it isn’t that difficult. Turns out most people who sell hormones illegally don’t really care who’s buying them. They just want money, and Mira has plenty of that.
The hardest part is the waiting. Mira did a lot of reading before she pulled the trigger on actually taking hormones without a doctor’s help. She knows that it takes time, but a year in it feels like nothing has really changed. She wasn’t expecting to grow huge breasts overnight, but still, something should be happening. She’s taking the highest recommended dose for her height and weight (she’s eager, not stupid), something that she quadruple checked and cross-referenced with medical websites and other people online that are in better situations than her own. (She’s sick to death of adults online telling her to be careful.)
Of course, she’s built like a chopstick, and she takes after her father’s side more. Her paternal grandmother, the shriveled old prune, has a chest that’s practically concave. Though how much of that is just her natural build and how much is age Mira doesn’t know.
She sighs as she regards herself in the mirror. She’d never really been prone to spots before the hormones and still didn’t have them often, so she couldn’t attest to her skin changing. It didn’t feel any softer, but she did touch it everyday so how would she be able to notice?
Her father had taught her to shave at fourteen. He had deemed it the appropriate time but she’d never grown any facial hair that was worth it. It seemed the men in their family just didn’t have much to work with in that department. Minho could barely get more than a wispy tuft on his chin and her father had always kept himself clean shaven.
She pulls her facial cleanser and moisturizer out of the drawer of the dresser. She needs to be ready to leave for class in the next twenty minutes. Her parents, thankfully, don’t keep up with the intricacies of her schedule now that she’s older. As long as they don’t hear from her instructors that she missed something, everything is golden. So the fact that she is going to a hip hop class after her normal ballet lesson would be news to them. They honestly barely pay her any attention at all as long as she doesn’t cause any problems, and that’s just fine with her.
Mira jumps when the door opens but she doesn't turn, can see that it's just Minho in the mirror. She continues with her skin care and says flatly, "get out."
Minho sneers and boldly steps further into the room. "Getting all dolled up for one of your faggy dancing lessons?"
Mira breathes out slowly through her nose, refusing to rise to his bait. "I get to spend my time surrounded by beautiful half-naked women who trust me to throw them through the air and catch them again, while you wrestle around with other sweaty men, so who's really the fag?"
Minho has a handful of her shirt and has her shoved up against the dressing table a second later. They're of a height and weight but Minho has the element of surprise. He hasn't put his hands on her since she got good enough to fight back effectively, so she wasn't expecting a physical reprisal. The mirror rattles against the wall with the force of the shove and the air is swiftly punched out of Mira's lungs. Minho swings her around and throws her onto the floor at his feet. The back of her head hits the wooden floor with a solid thump. "Say that again, bitch boy."
Mira growls and kicks the side of his knee when he takes a menacing step forward. He stumbles and Mira scrambles back. Minho falls down to one knee and flails his arms out to keep from falling entirely. His left hand hits the edge of Mira's trashcan and tips it over, spilling the contents on top out on the bedroom floor.
Mira feels the blood in her veins turn to ice.
Amongst the tissues and clothes tags and food wrappers a single used syringe rolls out and spins to a stop in front of Minho's downed knee.
Minho looks directly at the syringe. He stares at it for what feels like an eternity before he flicks his eyes up to meet hers. His rageful expression has shuttered into something almost resembling concern. He stands up, straightens his clothes, and walks out of the room without a backward glance.
Mira stares at the syringe too. Under her hands, the floor seems to hum with that buzzing energy she feels sometimes. She knows, with full and complete certainty, that she is absolutely fucked. The string in her belly tugs her to her feet. She’s not sure how long she has until Minho ruins her life, but it can be measured in minutes to hours. She has to move.
She grabs her dance bag and starts stuffing everything incriminating in it as quickly as possible. The bag isn’t big enough to hold all the clothes she’s accumulated so she has to pick out her favorites. Her small stash of makeup isn’t worth the hassle. She buries it at the back of her dresser under a bunch of pajama pants and hopes that it won’t be found. Her emergency cash, her burner phone, her laptop, all of her false paperwork, and lastly the medications all go in the bag. She grabs it all up and bolts out of the house.
She rents a locker at the train station, stashes her bag, and heads back home. It's the last place she wants to be, but if she's not there...she shudders to think.
~
There are only two numbers saved in Mira's burner phone. Her ex-girlfriend, Eun, and the only person she's ever told her real name, Mademoiselle Park.
The call is answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
"Mademoiselle Park, it's Mira. I need help.” She looks around the station furtively. No one is paying her much attention. She chose a crowded area on purpose, more people around in case her father or their staff show up. She can pitch a fit if needed and it will be noticed.
“Where are you?”
"Seoul Station."
“Do you need me to pick you up or can you make it to me?”
"I can get to you."
“I'll text you my address.” Mira already knew, of course, that she could trust Mademoiselle, that had been proven years ago, but she once again shows she’s solid. No demands for details, no extraneous questions, just reliable action.
The journey doesn't take too long but it feels like an eternity with the pain Mira's in. She huddles deep inside her hoodie when a few people shoot her concerned glances but no one stops her.
Mademoiselle Park opens the door almost as soon as Mira's knuckles leave it. She gasps when she sees the sorry state Mira is in and opens the door for her quickly.
Mira steps in, head down but eyes sweeping the small space. The apartment is small but clean and cozy. From the entrance she can see the living room with an overstuffed couch and a nice sized TV on the opposite wall. There are two large windows that look out on the city.
Mira kicks off her shoes and drops her bag at the front door. Mademoiselle Park closes the door behind her and turns immediately to Mira.
"Mira, what happened?" She hovers her hands over Mira's shoulders but doesn't touch her, probably because Mira looks like she was chewed up and spit out by a rabid animal.
Mira sniffs harshly to pull back her tears but she fails immediately. "They found out."She barely sounds human. She swipes at her eyes and brushes over the split on her cheekbone which just makes her cry more.
"Did your father do this?"
Mira nods, her whole body slumping with exhaustion. "Minho found one of my syringes. They thought I was doing drugs. Father was so angry. I tried to tell him it wasn't true and he called me a liar. He said if my mouth was moving then I was lying. He knocked my glasses off when he hit my cheek, and then I couldn’t see anything and he just started beating me. He said he'd known about the money for months." Mira isn't sure that her words are even clear anymore with how hard she's crying. She can feel hands on her shoulders now, steering her gently away from the door. “He thought I was spending it on my girlfriend so he didn’t say anything.”
"You've been stealing money?"
Mira nods. She's gently pushed back to sit on the couch. "For the hormones."
"How long has that been going on?"
"Like a year."
"Okay, and how did this happen?" She gestures at Mira's destroyed hair, some of it still hanging past her chin but large chunks shaved down to the scalp.
"Minho tried to stop Father. Told him I'd had enough and tried to pull him off me but then Father punched Minho. But it gave me a chance to get away and I got one of my old vials and I shove it in his hand like 'look see, I'm not on drugs, I'm just a girl.' And he just, like, stared at me. Like I was an alien or something. And then he just left and I thought maybe it was over. But he came back and he had the clippers and he...and he," Mira just gestures to her ruined hair, she's crying too hard to talk.
"I get it, I get it." Park, who had been listening with a hand over her mouth in horror, wraps her arm around Mira's shaking shoulders. "It's going to be okay, sweetie."
Mira shakes her head in disagreement. There's no way this is ever going to be okay.
"How did you get away?" Park asks after Mira's jagged sobs had tapered off into something more manageable. She offers Mira a tissue from the box beside her couch.
"I kneed Father in the balls, grabbed my glasses, and ran." Park barks out a sharp laugh at that and it makes Mira smile despite the tears.
"Serves him right," she says, giving Mira's shoulders a squeeze. "I'm going to go get my first aid kit. It's not very fancy but we can at least clean up that cut on your face. I'm not sure your hair is going to be salvageable." She says it so gently but Mira still feels fresh tears well up. She loves her hair. The older woman cups her chin and tilts her head up. "It'll grow back."
The next half hour is spent getting Mira cleaned up. The cut on her cheekbone is the worst one. Mademoiselle Park cleans it and uses a few butterfly bandages to close it up the best they can. The rest of her is basically a walking bruise. Her ribs ache but based on a few internet searches they don't seem to be broken. Mira's face is going to be a kaleidoscope of color over the next couple of weeks, and her left eye is already swelling shut, but nothing is damaged beyond repair or bad enough that Park deems it necessary to override Mira's insistence on not going to the hospital. She gets an ice pack that she moves from her eye to her ribs to her cheek when it starts getting too cold in any one place. After she's cleaned up, Park forces some cup ramyeon into her hands and insists she eat.
It's while she's scarfing the noodles down that there's a quiet knock at the door. Mira freezes and looks to her teacher in alarm. She left her cell phone behind on purpose so her father couldn't track her down. Did he somehow manage it already?
Mademoiselle Park sees her panic. "It's okay, it's just my brother. He might be able to help you out."
"Your brother?"
"Yes, I've mentioned him before. He works for Sunlight Entertainment. He knows a lot of people because of his work. I'm sure he can find someone to help you."
There's a knock at the door again and a voice this time. "Siu? It's me."
Park opens the door to a short, slightly chubby, young man with a kind face and a thin mustache. She hugs him and ushers him into the apartment. The man makes friendly eye contact with Mira right away and gives her a dorky wave. "Hi, you must be Mira. I'm Bobby."
Mira, still wary, can't deny that he has an affable charm. "Hi Bobby."
"Can I sit with you?"
Mira scoots over a little to give him space. Bobby sits with his body angled toward her.
"My sister has told me a little bit about you. She says you're an exceptional dancer."
Mira glances at Park and gets a confirming nod. Mira knows that she's a great dancer, of course, she's received a solo in every recital and exhibition since she started. And ever since she started sneaking to the hip hop classes as well she's been even better. Still, it's nice to have it acknowledged by her teacher. She sits up a little straighter.
"I am pretty good," Mira agrees. Bobby laughs.
"Love the confidence. Can you let me in on what happened? Siu just said you needed help. I can see that you're pretty roughed up."
Mira recounts the tale for him. It's a little easier the second time but she still tears up when she tells him about her hair. Bobby's face is an open book for his thoughts and his apparent genuine concern for her gives Mira a spark of hope. Trustworthiness must run in their family, or maybe just genuine concern for other people.
When she's told him everything, Bobby stands up and fishes his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. "I'm going to make a few calls," he tells her. His smile is soft and sad. "I have a good feeling about you, Mira."
He already has his phone to his ear when he makes his way out to the small balcony. As he's closing the sliding door she hears, "Celine, I found someone you have to meet. She's perfect."
Mira isn’t sure what to make of that. Who is Celine? What is Mira perfect for? Is she about to get sold to BTS as their slave? Maybe she’s been reading too much RPF. The noodles have gone cold. She finishes them anyway.
Bobby is on the balcony for a long time. He hangs up and calls at least ten different people, not that Mira is paying any attention.
He's gone long enough that Mademoiselle Park insists that Mira take a shower and change into something that isn't drenched in the smell of fear and desperation. Mira agrees easily enough and if she checks the bathroom lock three times it's no one's business but her own.
By the time Mira comes out of the bathroom, wearing something cobbled together that passes more as comfortable than cohesive, Bobby is making up the couch with a pillow and blanket and Mademoiselle Park is making him some tea.
"Ah! Mira! Celine isn't in town tonight so the soonest she can be here is tomorrow morning. That’s my boss, by the way. She wants to meet you in person. Siu made up the guest room for you. We felt like it would be better if you don’t leave the apartment, just in case your father has people out looking for you. I've also talked to a few lawyers and doctors to get a baseline on what we're going to need. I didn't tell them anything about you specifically and I didn't mention your name, but I have some avenues to look down for you now."
Mira is a little taken back by his efficiency. "Oh, um, thank you?" She eyes the couch, it's very small and is definitely more suited for Bobby's height than hers but it feels rude to not offer to sleep there, given the circumstances. "I can sleep on the couch."
Bobby gasps like he's offended and clutches at fake pearls. "Absolutely not, young lady." Mira ducks her head bashfully. She's certainly never been called that before. "Not only would my sister kill me, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself."
Mira can't help but giggle at his dramatics. He beams at her.
"He's right though," Park says, as she approaches from the open kitchen with Bobby’s tea, "I would kill him. And so would our mother."
She hands Bobby his tea and looks Mira over. "Would you like some help with your hair? I have some scissors, we could even it out a bit."
Mira presses her lips into a tight line but nods in assent. Her head looks like a badly done lawn mowing. At least if it's all even she won't feel the ghost of her hair tickling her cheeks.
Bobby catches her expression. "You know, I bet I could find a wig in the wardrobe department, that exact color. Would that be something you'd want?"
Mira bites the inside of her cheek when she feels fresh tears welling up and nods again.
Bobby already has his phone in hand. "do you want it chin length like it is now or longer."
"Longer." Mira answers quickly. "As long as possible."
"Done."
Mademoiselle Park sits Mira on one of her bar stools and drapes a towel around her shoulders like a cape. She doesn't fuss around, which Mira appreciates, just tells her, "alright, here we go," and starts cutting. Mira shivers at the sound of the scissors going through the hair and closes her eyes tight. It takes about ten minutes, all told, before Mademoiselle Park pats her shoulder and sweeps the towel away.
Mira's head feels cold. “I’m going to go to bed now, if that’s alright.”
“Of course, sweetie.”
She wishes them both goodnight, ignores the worried glance they give each other, and crosses the short distance to the guest room.
The room is simply appointed. There's a single bed with a mint green duvet and two pillows that look untouched in the center of the room. Across from the door is a spacious window with the blinds half drawn. Under it is a simple arm chair that matches the color of the duvet. Beside the bed is a small side table with a clock and lamp sitting on it. The closet has a small set of drawers inside, Mira leaves her bag on top of it.
Mira already knows she won't be sleeping. She left her phone behind when she ran and she doesn't want to risk using her laptop, so she's not really sure what she's going to do to pass the time. Be stuck alone with just her thoughts? Disgusting.
She sighs and moves to run a hand through her hair and flinches when she hits fuzz. Her hair has never been this short. She was even born with it longer than this! She takes her glasses off instead and presses the ice pack Mademoiselle Park sent her to bed with to her swollen eye.
The night is long. She dozes fitfully a few times, but mostly she stares at the dark ceiling and tries not to panic. She doesn’t even bother getting under the covers. Her heart pounds so hard she can feel it in her neck, as the night wears on the pain meds that Mademoiselle had given her pass out of her system and she aches all over. She thinks about getting up and going to search out more, but she doesn’t want to wake Bobby and be a bother.
When the sun starts to peek over the horizon and lighten the room she hears stirring in the rest of the apartment and breathes a sigh of relief.
Bobby is standing in the kitchen when she exits her room. His clothes are rumpled from sleeping on the couch but he’s humming something upbeat while he fiddles with his sister’s kettle. The rice cooker is steaming along beside him and Mira feels her stomach gurgle in anticipation.
“Morning,” Bobby greets when he sees her just standing there. “Celine will be here within an hour.”
Mira takes a seat at the bar and watches him prepare a simple breakfast. As much as her stomach is aching for food, she also feels like she’s going to throw up. Thankfully, she doesn’t have much time to ruminate. Mademoiselle joins them within a few minutes and they eat the food Bobby has prepared. She laughs with the siblings as they rib each other and try to one up telling her embarrassing stories about the other. She recognizes that they’re trying to distract her. She lets them.
Before long though there’s a ping from Bobby’s phone. He checks it expectantly and beams. “She’s here.”
Mira feels like some of the rice from breakfast is stuck in her throat. She follows Bobby and Sui to the living area and stands there awkwardly while Bobby lets in her supposed savior.
Mira recognizes Celine but she's not quite sure from where. That familiarity puts Mira more at ease than she might otherwise be, despite the stern look on Celine's face and the expensive cut of her suit. But all of that is secondary, because what happens when she makes eye contact with Celine is insane.
Mira has, at various times through her life, felt like there was a strange energy pulsing around her. It felt like a hum under her skin, a string in her belly, or even a wave under her feet at times. Once, she almost swore she saw something other worldly swirling across the floor of her father’s study. Now she sees it again. Blue and shimmering, swirling around Celine almost protectively but also glowing under her feet with each step and radiating out around her, up the walls, over the furniture. Bobby and Siu say nothing about it and so Mira keeps her mouth shut while the adults greet each other.
Celine turns to her, finally, and says, "And you must be Mira." Mira doesn't have a chance to respond before Celine has reached out and taken her chin in hand. Mira stiffens in alarm and then tries to stay very still.
Celine tilts Mira's head back and forth by the chin, cataloging her injuries. Her gaze lingers on Mira's neck where four finger shaped bruises testify to how hard her father held her down yesterday. "I see that Min-Jun still hasn't learned to control his temper." She releases Mira and leans in conspiratorially, "That's why he lost the Bronze medal in his Olympic days, you know."
"He said the ref cheated him." Mira isn't sure why she says it. Maybe shock. She shakes herself. "Wait, you know who I am?"
"Yes, but even if Bobby hadn't already filled me in, you're front page news, darling." Celine brandishes a newspaper she'd had tucked under her arm and hands it to Mira.
There it is in bold font.
CHAEBOL SON MISSING
And underneath is her most recent school photo, and by most recent she means from the beginning of the year. Did her parents even care that there were no other recent photos? Thankfully her hair was black at the time, but it hardly matters, she's probably going to have to shave her head.
The article is bare of many details, just her name and age and that she ran away after a family "disagreement." It claims that her family is very concerned for her safe return.
Mira snorts. She just bets they are. "Great." She looks at the adults around her. "I'm not going back there."
"Of course you're not," Celine agrees before Siu and Bobby can even open their mouths. Bobby looks quite proud of his boss though, his eyes are practically sparkling. “We have a few options on how to handle all of this. Would you mind terribly if we had a private conversation?” she asks Mira directly.
Mira shakes her head, “that’s fine.” She was expecting it at some point and was mentally preparing herself to be harshly judged by a stranger. The idea of being perceived so nakedly is terrifying, but Bobby seems to think that Celine can and will help her and she’s not really in a position to turn that help away.
Siu offers up the guest room again and Mira leads the way. She drops the newspaper on the bed face down so she doesn’t have to look at her own face staring back at her. She turns and faces Celine, tense and unconsciously stepping into a ready stance.
Celine closes the door gently. Her assessing gaze already on Mira.
Her look is sharp enough to flay Mira open to the deepest part of herself. The woman is intimidating enough in company, let alone in a one on one. Mira forces her shoulders back, she's never been one to cow for anyone but her father (and he had to get mean for it first).
"You saw it," Celine says after a silent moment of watching Mira try not to squirm.
Mira's heart stutters, because she did see something, but how could Celine possibly know that? "I don't know-"
Celine cuts her off with a wave. Her serious expression doesn’t change. There’s no anger there, but there is still that cool assessment happening. She’s watching Mira just as closely as Mira is watching her. "Don't bother lying. I know you saw it. I can feel that it's touched you."
Celine is still standing in front of the closed door, Mira’s only escape. Alarm bells are screaming in her head. She thought they were going to talk about Mira being trans, not whatever this is. Mira sinks shakily onto the edge of the bed. That same hum swirls up around her and she sees it again, a series of parallel lines undulating like waves around the room. Under her feet, across the walls, even outside the window.
Celine watches them too. She reaches out and curls the fingers of her hand around one of the strands, tugging it gently. The strand moves as Celine wills it and when she lets it go it moves back into place.
Mira is fascinated. And scared. "What is it?"
Celine walks over to the armchair near the window and sits. "It's called the Honmoon. It is a barrier between this world and the demon realm."
Mira wouldn't necessarily say that she's a skeptic but she does have to swallow back a scoff. The thing is though, Celine believes it, Mira can see it in her eyes. She can see it and so can Mira, and Celine asked for a private conversation between them. Mira can read between the lines.
"Ok, what about it?" Mira’s fingers have found a loose string on the duvet cover, she curls it around her finger until it gets too tight and then jerks it loose.
"Every generation the Honmoon chooses three women," she pauses and her expression is almost sad when she corrects herself, "girls to strengthen and protect it and to stop demon incursions into this realm."
Mira feels a lump in her throat. "Girls?" She hates how hopeful she sounds, that some weird magic net picking her makes her feel so good. She unwinds the thread from her finger and rewinds it.
Celine hums and gives Mira another once over. "Yes, for the nearly 700 years of its existence the Honmoon has only ever chosen girls."
Mira looks at her hands and bites down on her upper lip. Winding and rewinding the thread has made the tip of her pointer finger turn red. She has to swallow a few times before she can speak again. "Even though I'm..." She gestures to herself.
"The Honmoon chooses its Hunters. It's not for me to question why or how, simply to guide you now that you've been found. If you can see it, you've been chosen. If you've been chosen, you're a girl."
Mira huffs. "That easy, huh?"
Celine shrugs. "Not everything is simple, but some things are."
Mira discards the thread beside her. "So say I believe you, how am I supposed to protect this Honmoon thing?"
"There are two ways. First, you and your fellow Hunters must join your voices in harmony. It is through the power of your song that you will unite the souls of the living and strengthen the barrier."
Mira can feel her disbelief showing on her face. "Singing?"
"Yes."
"You expect me to fight demons with song?" Her tone is so disrespectful right now but she honestly can't help it.
Celine seems completely unbothered. She smirks and stands up. "No. I expect you to fight demons with a weapon."
Mira jolts back in surprise when Celine reaches out for the Honmoon once more, but this time when she tugs the glowing lines coalesce into two shining swords, the blades shining white-blue like starlight.
Seeing is believing. Mira is sold. “I get swords? That’s so sick!”
Celine chuckles. With a wave of her hands the swords break apart into light and are gone. “Maybe. Every Hunter’s weapon is unique to them.” Her expression shifts once more into seriousness. “I’m not going to lie to you Mira, it is an extreme honor to be chosen to protect this world, but it is also dangerous.” She returns to the chair. “I can’t understand all of the struggles you’ve faced growing up, but I can see how those difficulties could make it hard for you to trust others.” Mira finds that she can no longer make eye contact with Celine at that. She’s not wrong. “Your soul is already tied to your fellow Hunters, and if you are to be successful, you will have to trust them to protect you, just as they will have to trust you. It is only by working in concert, in harmony, that you can hope to seal the Honmoon and keep the demons at bay.”
Mira feels a little childish for asking, “the other Hunters, are they nice?”
Celine’s expression softens just a hair. “You’re the second one I’ve found, so the third is a mystery to me, but Rumi is very nice. A little awkward, maybe. She’s a sweet girl.” She sounds fond of this Rumi girl.
“And she’ll,” she hesitates to ask, “she’ll accept me?”
“Rumi knows, as I do, that the Honmoon only chooses the right person for the job. But yes, beyond that, Rumi is probably one of the more accepting people in this world. Though, you shouldn’t feel pressured to tell her anything more than you want to. I will introduce you to her as Mira. Your history is yours to share.”
Mira nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. I’ll go with you. I’ll do it. Whatever.”
Celine smiles. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Let’s return to the others and discuss the next steps. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”
Mira stands to follow after Celine. She feels the Honmoon humming more loudly now, it feels pleased. She exits the guest room, buoyed by a sense of purpose, and steps into her future.
Eg one region's fem voice (eg south-central England) may be produced further back in the mouth than another region's masc voice (eg Liverpudlian or Welsh), and vice versa.
You don't need to learn the accent of your speech therapist or favorite influencer, unless that's your goal.
The accent density is much higher in Europe (and presumably Asia and Africa) so trans people living there are more likely to encounter conflation.
Okay, to correct something quickly for the UK map which is very Very important.
It is NOT Cornu-English.
Its Cornish. Just Cornish.
Cornwall was its own Celtic Nation before being invaded by the English who burned so much of our language we had one singular theatre play to try and reconstruct it with. They killed our language, tried to kill our heritage, and they will NOT take our dialect.
It is still its own nation, and is working on being recognised as independent.
Cornish. From Cornwall. The Celtic county, one of the 6 Celtic nations alongside Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Brittany, and the Isle of Man. We're a Nation in our own right, and we're not English.
to every butch. every masc. every stud reading this.
you deserve aftercare.
i know that’s not always the narrative. i know a lot of you have been conditioned to believe that your job is to take care of everyone else and then quietly put yourself back together after. that needing reassurance makes you soft. that asking for tenderness after makes you too much. that your role means you don’t get to need things the way your partner does.
that’s not true. and i need you to hear that.
the amount of presence you bring. the care you put into making someone feel safe and seen and taken care of. the way you hold everything together and pay attention to every small detail. that deserves to be acknowledged. that deserves to be met with the same tenderness you gave.
you are allowed to need to be held after. you are allowed to need someone to look at you and tell you that you did well. that they felt good. that they felt safe. that you were exactly what they needed. you are allowed to have those questions racing in your head and need them answered out loud.
there is nothing weak about that. there is nothing wrong with you for wanting it.
and if you’ve never had it. if you’ve been giving and giving and leaving empty every time. i want you to know that the right person will not let you leave empty. the right person will pull you close and hold your face and make you look at them and tell you every single thing you needed to hear.
YN’s day was already ruined before the boarding pass mix-up. But somehow, a frantic sprint through the airport leaves her sitting in first class on a private charter flight carrying the Arsenal and Barcelona first teams for a massive overseas exhibition. Surrounded by millionaire athletes, YN just wants to put her headphones in and survive the flight.
She doesn't realize she'll literally be fighting to survive.
When the plane is torn apart mid air and crashes on a remote, uncharted island, the rules of the real world disappear. Millions of dollars, global fame, and on pitch rivalries mean nothing in the jungle. As the survivors band together, YN finds herself caught between clashing egos, unexpected romances and realizing they're not as alone as she thought.
This is a Lost inspired AU
Please read this first
Deleted & Extra scenes Part 1
Deleted & Extra Scenes Part 2
Deleted & Extra Scenes Part 3
The World Reacts
Deleted Alexia Smut From Part 24
Part 1 Turbulence
Part 2 Awakening
Part 3 What do we do now ?
Part 4 I didn't hear anything
Part 5 I see trees and more trees
Part 6 How hard could it be?
Part 7 When are we going to tell them?
Part 8 Its a nice night
Alexia Version
Leah Version
Alessia Version
Part 9 I feel so dirty in more ways than one
Part 10 Now will you stop arguing or do we have to put you in time out
Summary: You sneaked out of Leah's apartment in the middle of the night to go out with friends. Safe to say a lot of Arsenal players and Lionesses lose their shit when they can't find you.
Warnings: underage drinking
3.1k words
Masterlist
When Leah wakes up she immediately knows something is wrong. It's the same way that screenwriters make it look when their main character awakes to a burglar in the house and knows it's over.
No slow blinking. No stretching and no grumbling into the pillow as she tries to bury herself back into the warmth of her very cozy blankets.
Just sharp and instant awareness that something is off. Her eyes are wide open as she lies there in the darkness of her room and listens. Then there's the sound again.
One floorboard downstairs creaking. She sits up confused and glances around before climbing out of the bed. The house is too silent.
If you had just gotten up from your bed to get water or a snack you would've made way more sound. There's no muffled music, no annoyed muttering as you stumble through the hallway. No noises of disaster that came with you staying at her place since you had started living with her.
She walks through the hallway to check your room, she fully expects to see you there. Tangled in the duvet like you have been every other night this week. One sock half off and your phone propped up on the pillow beside you cause you were watching YouTube as you fell asleep. But the bed is empty.
And when she gets closer to touch it she realizes it's cold. You hadn't been in this bed in a while, long enough for all the body heat to disperse
“Duckie?” She calls out softly into the quiet house while making her way downstairs. But no answer.
The blonde can't help but feel panic set in as the realization sets in.
The blanket is folded back in a way that tells her you have not simply rolled out of it and gone to the bathroom. Your phone is gone. Your hoodie is gone. You left the house in the middle of the night. Alone.
Leah stands in the doorway to the living room for one very long second, staring when she finds it empty as well. Something inside her had clung to hope you just had fallen asleep in front of the TV. Then she turns around to the kitchen and grabs her own phone. Her blood pressure is through the roof as she panics.
“Right.” She mutters to herself as she scrolls down to your contact. “Right. Okay. Fine. Brillant. Just fantastic. Where are you, you menace?”
The dial tone feels like it's going on forever, just beeping but then it goes to voicemail. Of course it does. You wouldn't be the sneaky teenager she took in after your first stupid nightly endeavor if you would have picked up the call.
“Duckie, it’s Leah. Call me back the second you get this. The second. I mean it. I’m not joking, I’m actually not in the mood for this at…” She stops herself from losing it on your voicemail and takes one breath trying to force her voice to sound steadier. “Just ring me back.”
She hangs up but immediately tries again, maybe just maybe you'd pick up this time. Voicemail again.
“Of course.” She mutters pacing now as she clutches her phone tightly. “Of course.”
Her next call is the to the only other person she knows would be awake enough to be useful and helpful with this.
“Leah?” She hears as the groggy voice of Lotte through the phone.
“Have you seen Y/n?”
“At one in the morning?”
“Yes, at one in the morning.”
“No.”
Leah closes her eyes and sighs a bit. “Right. Cheers.”
She hangs up and calls another. Then another. She doesn't even know how many people she called in the end. Teammates from both England and Arsenal. Hell even staff she has no business ringing at this hour. But nobody knows anything.
“No, I haven’t seen her.”
“No, not since training.”
“Wait, is something wrong?”
“I’m sure she’s fine.” A very sleepy sounding Ella Toone says, far too cheerfully for Leah’s liking. “She is a teenager.”
Leah stops pacing and stares at the wall. “That is not comforting Tooney. Not at all.”
By now her thumbs are flying over the screen messages going out into just about group chat she can think of.
‘Has anyone seen Duckie?’
‘i am not joking guys. She's not in the flat.’
‘please answer if you've seen her or know anything.’
Every now and then dots appear and disappear as the replies come in. But nobody knows anything, they just ask her to check the apartment again and if she's sure that the teenager is missing.
Leah sits on the couch with her hands shaking and drags a hand through her blonde hair. “Good.” She mutters annoyed with herself. “I've successfully made everyone else miserable and worried too.”
She still does check the entire house again. The bathroom, the spare room, even behind the fucking sofa like you could've suddenly shrunk yourself down to half your already tiny size and hidden there just out of spite.
But there's no sign of you. No sign of anything. Like you just walked out the door and didn't even think twice about it. That's what makes it worse.
Because she knows you're nor stupidly reckless, nor really. Not in the way that would've made her think you'd just up and vanish without telling anyone. Yes, you're a menace. One with excellent footwork and stealing Leah's hoodies and leaving your boots in the worst places. But you're also a teenager with too much energy and a very anxious brain and a habit of wandering when you need space.
Leah knows that. She probably knows you better than anyone else in your life at this point. Knowing it does not help at all though. You're missing and she doesn't know what to do next. Call the police? Call the club?
Her phone pings with a new message and she unlocks it with shaky and sweaty fingers.
Lucy: found her.
Every movement in her body stops dead. Her heart slams so hard against her ribcage it almost hurts. But the relief floods in as well. Someone knows where you are. It's so much relief that she almost feels dizzy with emotions and relaxation.
Then she reads the next message.
Lucy: she’s at a club. Aggie ratted her out. apparently she's on the kids' second Instagram and saw a story.
Leah stares at the screen like she’s misread it. The information just doesn't want to register in her brain. You? Her shy and very chaotic, but overall good duckie. In a club? At two in the morning? But then the blonde realizes it makes sense. You're seventeen, all your school friends are going out and the last four weeks you had begged to join them at least once on an evening before an off day.
“Of course she is.” She mutters. And if you had been there to hear her voice you would've known how much trouble you were going to be in for this stunt. It went flat in that dangerous, controlled way that means she is absolutely not calm and ready to lock you into a room for days. “Of course she is.”
Another message pops up while she tries calming herself down at least a bit.
Lucy: I’m getting her.
Keira: with me
Leah exhales slowly through her nose and texts them back a thumbs up. Then she sinks onto the couch and drags a hand down her face. “Brilliant. Fantastic. Love that for me.”
The music is loud enough to feel in your bones with every single beat. And there's lights that flash across the room in bursts of colour.
There's so many people all pressed together dancing, laughing and talking so loud.
Everything is just a bit too much and too loud and drowns out all the worries and noise inside your usually busy brain.
Deep down you know you shouldn't be here. You knew that even before you left the flat. You knew it when your friends texted. You knew it when you had stepped into the club and felt the first beats and the bass inside your body.
But for a few hours it worked and was amazing. There was no pressure and no expectations. Just you and a lot of noise.
You don't notice them at first as they make their way their through the crowd. But your friends do. Their conversations get quieter and stop, someone's head turns and then someone next to you whispers “Wait is that?”
It's only than that you turn and immediately you know you're done for. Your stomach drops straight down to your shoes. Because walking through the crowd looking like she wants to shut the whole place down and beat up the bouncer who let you in, is Lucy Bronze.
Right behind her, equally unimpressed and with her arms folded over her chest, as she keeps her eyes trained in you, is Keira Walsh.
You freeze immediately and glance around nervously. There is no escape route, no way you can get away from them.
Lucy stops directly in front of you and raises one eyebrow. She doesn't raise her voice as she speaks, she doesn't need to.
“Outside.” She says her voice is quiet and pressed. You open your mouth and try to defend yourself. “Lucy… I….”
“Outside.” She repeats. This time it has more bite and you shut your mouth immediately. Your friends around you have gone very, very quiet. None of them want to get between an angry Lucy Bronze and you.
One of them even gives you a look that is half sympathy and half you're so gonna die. You don't argue, not wanting to get yourself in even more trouble. You follow the two Chelsea players quietly and try not to cry as you think about how much trouble you're gonna be in.
The cold air outside the club hits you like a slap the second you step outside. As the doors close behind you the music immediately dulls behind you and is replaced by the quietness and hum of the street. Immediately you can also hear the rush of your blood in your ears.
Lucy turns on you immediately as she leads you to the car. “What.” She says, her voice slow and pressed out as she speaks. She was clearly trying to control her anger. “Are you doing?”
You swallow nervously. “I just…”
“No.” She cuts you off and gives you a little glare. “Try again.”
You glance at Keira like she might save you, even though you know she won't. She's just as mad as Lucy. Instead the redhead just raises an eyebrow unimpressed with your behavior. “Go on.”
“I came out with friends?” You offer weakly, but you know it won't help you.
Lucy stares at you, like she can't believe what she's hearing and seeing. “Do you know what time it is?”
“…Yes.”
“Do you know how many people we just woke up trying to find you?”
That question makes you flinch and you look down at the pavement as your cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Lucy just takes a step closer to you. She didn't shout but her voice made it so clear she was disappointed and serious about what she was saying. Somehow that feels way worse.
“Leah thought something had happened to you.”
“I didn’t mean t-”
“I don't care what you meant to do.” Lucy says, her voice sharper now. “You disappeared. Your phone is off. You didn't tell anyone where you were. You're a teenager in a senior football team and you just fucking disappeared, acting like it doesn't matter.”
“It does matter.” Keira adds quietly but firmly. She clearly is just as disappointed but isn't gonna yell at you while Lucy does.
“I know.” You mumble, but Keira huffs and glances at you, her head tilting slightly. “Do you? Because this doesn't look like you do.”
You don't have an answer for her and just stare at the pavement again, while Lucy exhales to keep her anger in check, before she mumbles. “Get in the car.”
When you don't move immediately she adds a “Now” while judging you to the door making you climb inside.
The car ride is worse. Way worse. There's no music, so there's absolutely no distraction. The silence is pressing on you from all sides as all you hear is your breathing and the hum of the car on the road.
Neither of the women says a thing, which makes it even worse. You can just feel the anger and disappointment in the air and you know that nothing will change that very quickly. They're mad and annoyed with you. Mad that you got yourself into this situation and annoyed you made them get up in the middle of the night to get you.
Lucy's driving and Keira is in the passenger's seat. And you? You're all by yourself in the backseat and you feel really small. Like you're suddenly twelve years old again, being driven home by your parents after you got into a fight at school instead of a seventeen year old who is playing football at the highest level.
For a while nobody speaks until Lucy suddenly starts. “Do you understand that this isn't about you going out?” She asks, her eyes still fixed on the road and you're suddenly very glad she is driving so you can't feel her angry glare on you.
You stare at your shoes. “Yeah.”
“Then explain your thought process to me.”
You huff a bit as your brain scrambles to come up with an answer. “I just wanted a break. I couldn't sleep and I…”
“So you went to a club?” It sounds utterly ridiculous when she says it like that. So you offer another sentence. “My friends texted?”
“At two in the morning?” Keira asks with an annoyed huff.
“.... Yeah?”
Keira turns slightly in her seat to look back at you now. She looks so disappointed that it feels much worse than Lucy being angry at you earlier, you could feel the guilt pool in your stomach as she speaks. “You could've texted someone.”
“I didn't wanna wake anyone up.” You mumble quietly, which earns you a scoff from Lucy.
“So instead you let us all think you were missing.”
You flinch and immediately your gaze drops to the floor again. “I didn't think-” “No.” Lucy interrupts you. “You clearly didn't.”
The silence falls over the car again and it feels heavier than before, you really felt horrible but they were so mad. What could you even do?
Then quieter Lucy speaks again. “You can't just disappear like that. Not with who you are. Not with the position you're in.”
You blink a bit to get rid of the stinging in your eyes as tears form. You know that logically. You shouldn't do crazy stuff because if people recognize you, they could post it or try to take advantage of you. You're not a normal 17 year old after all. You're a lioness and Arsenal's Stargirl as the fans nicknamed you, even if all you want is to be normal and unrecognizable. Leah had that talk with you before in hopes to keep you safe, she had been so gentle and sweet about it. Clearly she had tried to not make you feel horrible as she crushed your dreams of a normal teenage life with her words.
Keira, who had glanced back at you a few times during the car ride, softens slightly. “We're not saying you can't have a life. But this? This is reckless and not okay.”
You nod a tiny bit, because there's not much else you can do, you do add a quiet mumble of “I'm sorry.”
Lucy doesn't answer straight away and Keira just nods, but then Lucy sighs. “You're going to say that to Leah as well. And you're not gonna make a fuss with whatever punishment she decides on. You're gonna be good and listen to her and not cause more trouble. She's already stressed enough.”
Your stomach twists with guilt as she reminds you of that. Leah had been so stressed recently. Between the lionesses, Arsenal and being in Captain/ Vice Captain positions on both teams she had a ton of meetings. But she was also in ads and had interviews and Photoshootings. She was working on her next children's book, and was struggling with her Endometriosis more than usual recently. And on top of that she was trying to keep you out of trouble. “I know.”
—
The front door opens before you can even knock at it. Leah is there and she looks horrible. Like she hasn't slept at all and instead cried. She looked so frazzled, still clutching her phone in her hand and her hair a mess in a loose bun. She was wearing the same hoodie as in training today, clearly she had just thrown on the first hoodie had found.
Before you can say anything her eyes scan you up and down. It's completely quiet between you two. You just don't know what to do or say. She has that look. That Leah look she has when she is angry and disappointed but also relieved nobody got hurt. You hate it when she looks at you like that.
But in the end she exhales shakily and pulls you into her arms. “You're alive.”
You curl closer and nod a tiny bit into her shoulder. “Yeah… I am sorry, Leah.”
She closes her eyes again to collect herself but when she opens them again she nods a bit and nudges you into the house. “Inside. Now. And you're so definitely grounded. You're not leaving my sight for the next month.”
You immediately go inside not wanting to make her even angrier. She nudges you to your bedroom so you can change and while she does so Lucy and Keira quietly say goodbye to drive back to their place.
Leah stands by the door while you get ready for bed and suddenly says. “You know you'll be in so much trouble tomorrow. I rang everyone, even trainers. You're probably gonna have to run a lot of laps and you better not complain.”
You swallowed a bit but nodded. The blonde captain sighs and adds quietly. “I am just glad you're safe. I was worried. Now get some sleep.”
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